No One Heard Her Scream (12 page)

"Lovely. I hate rats." She winced.

"Especially the two-legged variety." Sam smirked. "Anyway, that's all we've got for now."

"Call me when you have something more definitive, huh? On my cell?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Charlie and I have some more work to do here, taking an inventory and measurement of the bones and their conditions. But I'll let you know what I find out."

Becca should have told them she was off the case, but something stopped her. She might get mileage out of keeping that fact a secret.

But another thing ate at her craw. Murphy had every opportunity to attend this meeting with the ME, but he never showed an interest. If the bones on the table belonged to Isabel Marquez, Becca had a feeling the case would get shoved onto a back burner. Whatever they had on Cavanaugh would take precedence. Isabel's killer might never be identified. Becca couldn't let that happen. After meeting the Marquez family, she owed them the truth.

Shrugging out of her surgical gown and stripping off the latex gloves, she headed for the door.

"I'll get the DNA sample to you ASAP. Later, guys."

Becca dumped her surgical gown and latex gloves into a receptacle outside the autopsy room. She had a lot of ground to cover before she'd be ready for the Marquez brothers.

Central Station
Downtown San Antonio

The room adjacent to interrogation room number 5 was dark, but not empty. Through the two-way mirror, a pale light shone, giving shape to Becca's silhouette. She stood in the dark with arms crossed, watching the Marquez brothers wait for her to show up in the next room. A crime-scene tech had already swabbed both men for DNA testing. Now she let time do its work. Both looked anxious, each in his own way. Their voices were muffled on the intercom speaker.

"Don't volunteer anything. If you have any doubts, don't answer. Just look at me, and I'll tell you what to do."

Dressed in his priest vesture, Victor sat rigid in his chair. His tone low and forceful. He talked out of the corner of his mouth, not really looking at his brother.

"I don't need you here, Victor. You should have let me drive myself."

Rudy rolled his eyes and slumped deeper into his chair, but the priest ignored his objection.

"Don't worry. If we need a lawyer, I know someone who may do it for free."

"You get what you pay for, bro."

The priest didn't reply. He shut his eyes for an instant and took a deep breath. Victor raised his chin and maintained his stoic expression, hoping to assure his younger brother he could handle the situation. But by Rudy's actions, Becca saw he hadn't bought into Victor's overtures. The guy avoided looking at the priest and fidgeted in his seat. His eyes darted to the closed door every few minutes.

Despite his nervousness, Rudy's dark brown eyes appeared childlike. An undeniable innocent quality to them. He looked most like Isabel in that sense. Dressed in his work clothes of faded blue jeans and a black Spurs basketball T-shirt, Rudy looked like he'd barely had time to wash his face and hands. His clothes had a layer of dust and grime, the pattern only broken by the darker markings of sweat. Shorter than Victor and very slender, Rudy had the appearance of a boy in a man's body.

But Becca couldn't let her first impressions of Rudy sway her judgment as a cop. Her instincts told her this family was holding something back. Now she'd push them to uncover the truth. Becca walked through the door of interrogation room 5.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." She dropped her casebook on the table in front of the Marquez brothers. "I appreciate your cooperation, Father."

Becca extended her hand to Rudy. "My name is Detective Rebecca Montgomery."

After a long moment, he eventually returned her gesture.

"Rudy . . . Rudy Marquez."

His eyes avoided hers. He raised a hand to his mouth and chewed on a thumbnail. Becca sat in front of him. She leaned forward with her elbows on the table, forcing him to look at her.

"Your brother tells me you and Isabel were very close. So I'm going to need your help, Rudy." She paused, making sure she held his attention. "Tell me what she was like. Tell me about your Isabel."

Her request surprised him. Eyes wide, he looked up and sat straight in his chair. Nearly a minute ticked by before he spoke, his voice almost a whisper.

"When she was little, Isabel wanted to please Mama so much. She was a good girl." He stared across the room, not focusing on anything in particular. The past had caught up with him. "When I think of her, I remember Isabel putting her hand in mine when we walked to school, and not just at the crosswalks. She used to tell me how I made her feel safe."

That memory took its toll. Tears welled in his eyes, a contradiction to the sad smile on his face. "She needed me then."

He quit talking. Silence overwhelmed the room. And Father Victor didn't fill the void. The priest swallowed hard, watching Rudy.

"But at some point, little girls grow up," Becca prompted. A flash of Danielle's sweet face wedged a knot in her throat. "Little girls learn to live their own lives."

A tear slid down his face. Rudy never looked up. "Yes, they grow up. And they learn about ugliness from despicable men with no honor."

Father Victor turned his head in surprise. "Please, Rudy . . ."

"You never want to hear about this, Victor. Yet here, you drag me in front of this stranger to talk about it. Why is that? So you can act surprised, like you never knew? So you can remain the saint?" Rudy's voice rose in anger. He glared at his brother. "You were gone. I was left to deal with it alone."

"Deal with what, Rudy?" Becca asked. "Tell me about Isabel."

"Don't do this,
mi hermano.
Please." Father Victor clutched Rudy's arm, pulling his brother closer. "Hasn't our family suffered enough? Hasn't Mama been through enough pain?"

Rudy yanked his arm free and turned his back on Victor.

"About a week before she went missing, I saw Isabel get into some kind of Mercedes, a block down from our house. She was with another girl, Sonja Garza. It was kind of dark, but I recognized the Garza girl. When I asked Isabel about it, she lied. She told me the car belonged to Sonja's boyfriend."

"But you didn't believe her?" she asked. After Rudy shook his head, Becca persisted, "Why didn't you believe her, Rudy?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He looked tired. After a moment, Rudy wiped both hands over his face. "I followed the car, that's why. Out I-10 to some rich guy's place. I didn't like her sneaking around like that. It wasn't right."

"Did you ever actually see the man driving the car?" she asked.

"It was Hunter Cavanaugh."

Hearing Rudy say Cavanaugh's name surprised Becca. She tried not to let it show.

"How did you know it was Cavanaugh, Rudy? Had you ever seen him before?"

He hesitated. Anger replaced the accusation in his eyes.

"Oh, I get it. You don't believe me. You wanna protect that son of a bitch." He stood and paced the floor behind his chair, running a hand through his thick dark hair. "The dude's old enough to be my old man. A guy like that only wants one thing from a young girl like Isabel."

"So you actually saw him?" Becca needed confirmation. "You said it was dark."

"I saw good enough. I recognized the car. He came out to the Imperial Theatre sometimes, during the renovation. I saw him there." Rudy sat back down, on an edge of the chair.

"You worked the renovation at the Imperial?" she asked.

She'd know the answer soon enough. Becca had requested the billable personnel listing taken off the architectural firm's invoices from the subcontractor on the renovation. And she had requested the personnel records for the subcontractor for a comparison, but none of the information had come in yet.

"I think we've told you enough, Detective." Father Victor stood and reached for Rudy's arm, pulling him to his feet. "Go talk to this Hunter Cavanaugh but leave my brother out of it."

Yet despite Victor's plea, Rudy wasn't ready to quit. He leaned across the table and pointed a finger at her.

"Cavanaugh bought her that damned necklace. The one you were asking about, the gold heart. I'm sure of it."

"You don't sound sure, Rudy. Sounds like you're guessing." Becca stood and stepped closer to Marquez. "Tell me about the last time you saw Isabel."

His eyes grew wide. He stopped himself and swallowed. As Rudy opened his mouth to speak, Victor intervened.

"That's it. No more." The priest rattled off in Spanish, too fast for Becca to keep up. Whatever he told Rudy, it was enough to shut him up. "Please, Detective, stop this. If you want to speak to either of us again, it will be through an attorney. Now I'd like to take Rudy home. Mama is expecting us for dinner. Are we free to go?"

Father Victor's voice wavered. And his eyes no longer looked confident. He clung to his brother, hoping she'd let him claim his small victory. Eventually, Becca nodded and watched them leave the room. After they shut the door behind them, she sat down, alone with her thoughts.

Not once did Father Victor or Rudy ask about Isabel, where her body had been found. She had deliberately held back the information to see if they would. One of them had been at the Imperial after the fire. Becca had a sinking feeling if she told them where Isabel's body had been found, she wouldn't be telling them anything new.
Damn it!

She replayed the interview in her mind and made notes in her casebook. When she was done, Becca pulled the cell phone from her jacket pocket.

On the second ring, Hastings answered the call.

"Hey, Sam. When you're looking for that hammer, check into masonry tools first, will ya?"

"Any particular reason to start there?"

"Just a hunch. Let me know what you find out."

Becca ended the call, deep in thought. Rudy worked on the renovation project at the Imperial, probably as a mason, his usual gig. Suspicion twisted her gut, her professional instincts grappling with the love she felt for a dead sister.

Becca shut her eyes, letting her training take over. She would follow the evidence, even if it led to someplace she didn't want to go.

Becca opened the front door to her condo and tossed her keys and purse onto the kitchen counter. She didn't flip on any lights. Instead, she opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of Glenmorangie single malt scotch whiskey, pouring a small glass. She resisted the urge to call Santiago. It was late. After her forced vacation, she'd have plenty of time to make contact. So, without changing clothes, she collapsed on her sofa and stared out the windows from the un-lighted room.

Dim lights from the Riverwalk bled through the glass. A kaleidoscope of pastel dappled her carpet and walls, mixed with murky shadows. Stirred by the faint breeze outside, branches of cypress made the colors undulate in the dark and across her body. Hypnotic.

She took a swig of scotch. It shocked her system and burned her throat. But once its heat radiated through her chest and down her arms, she melted into the cushions of her couch.

The noise from the city throbbed, a dull pulse, out-of-sync. Becca shut her eyes and let the events of the day close in, the faces of Danielle and Isabel clouding her mind. Alone in the dark, she felt grief the most. It emanated from deep inside, leaving her no place to hide. By the time she opened her eyes, tears streaked her face. Her skin prickled where the tears had strayed, the air starting to dry them. She finished her scotch and went for more, but when Becca stood, a glimpse of white caught her eye.

A white rose lay on the brick outside her window, its green leaves stirred in the breeze. And another had been dropped on the fire escape steps, at eye level, so she wouldn't miss it. For an instant, her heart leapt in her chest.

"Diego," she whispered.

A part of her felt too fragile to withstand his influence. But an even greater part willed him to be on the rooftop, waiting for her. Becca walked to her kitchen and took another dose of liquid courage, grimacing with the potency of the scotch. At the window, she took a deep breath and raised the pane. No amount of self-control would rein in the feeling. Her heart pounded in her rib cage.

Becca picked up the first rose and ducked through the window onto the landing. More flowers lay on the steps, leading her to the roof. Her eyes trailed the roses to the top. The white lights of her rooftop garden replaced the stars in the night sky, shimmering points of light. He must have turned them on, another invitation.

But Becca had a plan for Diego Galvan. And it had nothing to do with a starlit night and roses.

Diego stood on the edge of the light near a parapet wall, feeling more at home in the shadows of Rebecca's garden. Sand and small pebbles crunched under his boots in this section. Clay Saltillo tile pavers covered the rest of the rooftop decking. He ran his fingertips along the greenhouse. Had she constructed it herself? He understood her need to have such a place, admired her for it.

He cocked his head to one side when he heard the window slide open below. Rebecca was home. Diego turned to face the steps to the roof and waited, but the beat of his heart ramped up a notch, an unnerving reaction.

You're acting like a damned kid, Galvan. Get a grip.
He pulled open his brown leather jacket and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to appear casual. When she peered over the wall, he walked toward her and spoke up.

"I hope you don't mind. I made myself at home."

He offered his hand to help her over the brick wall—a well-intentioned and chivalrous gesture. But Diego couldn't help himself. He watched her move. Not even the conservative pantsuit hid her tight athletic body. If she looked at him now, Rebecca might be afraid of what she would see reflected in his eyes. He cleared his throat and glanced away.

"For a guy who lurks in the shadows, you do like a grand entrance. I'll give you that. Thanks for the roses . . . again."

When she touched his hand, a jolt of electricity shot through his system. He tried to downplay his reaction to her, but the exercise would be pointless. He had seen it before, in her eyes. In his mind and his heart, Diego knew the truth. This woman saw through his detached facade, making him feel raw and exposed. And in doing so, she forced him to remember the man he used to be. She shed light on every dark corner of his being, making him feel. . . redeemable.